


Confessing II

by littlemiss_m



Series: HOME, a series [8]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Dad!Cor, Depression, Family Feels, First Kiss, Gladio is a Good Bro, Hospitals, Love Confessions, M/M, No Character Death, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-21 16:09:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14288580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemiss_m/pseuds/littlemiss_m
Summary: The secret is out in the open and Prompto takes a turn for the worse.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Follows immediately after Confessing I.
> 
> The themes of depression and suicide are a lot more explicit in this than any of the previous fics in this series. Please do not read if this is a problem for you.

The sky shines in reds and oranges that match the maple trees lining the road. Prompto sits with his head pressed against the cool glass of the window, watches the scenery change with every turn they take; next to him, Gladio is uncharacteristically quiet and somber. He's upset because of Prompto and the fact is only one of the many reasons Prompto is now regretting the entire day. If he'd kept his mouth shut, his wrist covered, then none of this would have happened. He wouldn't have ruined everything.

”I can hear your brain all the way here,” Gladio comments all of sudden.

”Sorry,” Prompto mumbles. It feels like he's apologizing for a lot of things at once and Gladio sighs, reaches across the center console to give Prompto's elbow a quick pat.

”Didn't mean it like that.” The car slows down to let the pedestrians across the road and Prompto watches them go, smiling at the little chihuahua trying to keep up with its owner. ”Just–”

Gladio doesn't finish the sentence. He sighs, again, for the nth time since they got into the car back at Noct's apartment, and Prompto turns to curl against his door. Ignis had a lot of words for him earlier in the day, and Noctis reminded him over and over again that he's important and loved and needed. Gladio didn't have much to say, though he'd cried a lot, face red and snotty like Prompto's had been. Gladio _still_ doesn't have much to say but he keeps on trying, opening his mouth for an utterance or two before stopping. Prompto thinks it endearing in a way, stiffling in another. He doesn't want to talk anymore.

They reach the manor just as the fancy street lights begin to flicker on. Gladio parks in the garage, pauses to look at Prompto before getting out. Prompto doesn't resist when he's pulled into a side hug, instead choosing to snuggle closer to Gladio's chest. Cor's car sits in the empty slot reserved for guests.

”I told them earlier today,” Gladio murmurs, apologetic. ”They're probably waiting.”

Prompto knows. ”Yeah,” he sighs, shrugging. He's tired of doing this, tired of talking and explaining his darkest secrets, but there's no escape from this and he just wants to get things over and done with, even if he's terrified of Clarus and Cor's reactions. He didn't tell Cor when they talked about the barcode and that's probably a bad thing, a violation of Cor's trust. He doesn't know; it's been years since he last was in a situation where he had a guardian who actually made attempts at taking care of him beyond keeping him warm and fed.

The manor feels empty somehow, quiet and suspicious, but Prompto guesses that's just his anxiety speaking. Iris has cheer practice with her friends and Jared should have gone home by now, so it's just them and Clarus and Cor in the massive building.

When Iris and Gladio gave him the welcome tour after moving in, Iris called Clarus' office her favorite room in the entire building and Gladio grinned like he agreed. It's a nice room, naturally, all dark wood and lush fabrics gleaming softly by the grand fireplace, but it's still a study and Prompto can't help likening it to a principal's office. He feels little else but dread when they stop outside the room.

”Hey, uh,” Gladio murmurs, scratching the back of his neck with his free hand. He sighs and takes Prompto by the shoulders, smiling down at him even though his eyes are rimmed red and full of hurt. ”I know this is all really new still, but you're my brother now. I take care of Iris, I'll take care of you. Anything I'd do for her, I'd do for you.”

Prompto smirks even as his eyes well up with a new round of tears. ”Yeah?” he gasps. ”Gonna beat up all my boyfriends for me?”

”Hell yeah I will,” Gladio laughs. He pulls Prompto into the Certified Amicitia Embrace of Pain and Suffering that's actually really sweet and soft, they're just all too macho to admit it, and Prompto hugs him back as long as he can because it makes it _almost_ possible to pretend he's not standing in the hallway outside of Clarus' study.

The hug lasts too long and eventually Prompto has no choice but to step back and untangle himself from Gladio's arm. He receives a soft smile in return but it does nothing to ease his anxiety as he turns to knock on the door once, twice, pushing down the handle without waiting for a reply. Gladio pats his back and then he's in the office.

A merry fire crackles in the hearth. Cor and Clarus are both waiting for him by the fireplace, Cor on a couch and Clarus on the armchair next to it. Cor lifts up his arm in a clear invitation and Prompto scrambles closer, toeing off his shoes as he stumbles onto the couch and into Cor's embrace. He tucks himself close, folds his knees so they rest on Cor's thigh and burrows until he's just a tiny ball shaking like the drying leaves on the maple trees by the road. Clarus gets up, sits on the sofa table right next to him. Prompto weeps into Cor's shoulder like he hadn't just spent the entire day doing little else but crying.

* * *

A calm lull falls over the room. Prompto hides in Cor's embrace, doesn't shake Clarus' hand from where it rests on his knee; his sobs quiet and he wonders how this is going to go, if they're going to ask him to repeat what he told the others or if they'll make do with what Gladio told them. Either way, Prompto isn't sure how much more he can take, how much more he can give. He's already exhausted.

When Clarus asks to see, Prompto hands over his right wrist without a word. Sword-calloused fingers fumble with the latch of his bracelet and then set it aside, baring his wrist for the world to see. Prompto turns his head away and sags when he hears Clarus' breath hitch. Cor shifts, just a little, and for a moment Prompto fears he's going to let go. He doesn't.

Clarus' hands close around his wrist and Prompto is reminded of Gladio doing the exact same thing earlier in the day. ”Is this all?” he asks. Cor is still silent but present, like his apartment, and Prompto hopes he remains so. He's already so close to falling apart, he doesn't know what he'll do if Cor joins Clarus in questioning him.

Cor nudges him slowly and he realizes he still hasn't answered the question. A mangled, desperate sound catches in his throat and Prompto nods against Cor's shoulder, then shakes his head when he remembers what the question was.

”Right,” Clarus murmurs. ”I understand this whole – family thing is a bit of a new experience for you. It's a new thing for all us. You have a lot of people who care for you and who are willing to give you all the help you need. I can't say I know how you feel, but I promise I'm there for you. Cor and the boys as well, yeah?”

Cor hums his agreement and Prompto hears the echo of Mrs. Cerus' words ringing in his head, telling him to trust and find safety in his vulnerability. Back at the hospital, when she first spoke those words, it had all sounded so easy, but now it feels anything but. There are a million things he's supposed to say right now, a million things he needs to confess to, and he can't get the words past the hand around his throat.

”I, I, I,” Prompto tries, nevertheless, stopping over and over again because none of the words are right. There are two hands on him, one around his body and the other on his knee, and both give him a tiny squeeze when he falters. ”I told them.”

His tongue is thick in his mouth and Cor's shirt muffles his words. Prompto doesn't know what kinds of expressions Cor and Clarus are wearing, but they hum and sigh at his words, still holding onto him. Telling Ignis, Noctis, and Gladio was easy, but this is difficult, almost too much for him, though a lot of things in the past few hours have been almost too much and he's still managed to push through.

”It was very brave of you, telling them,” Clarus says. Prompto bursts out laughing, sobbing almost hysterically into Cor's side.

”It shouldn't be like this!” he cries, vaguely aware of Clarus hushing him while Cor simply continues rubbing circles against his back. ”It – it shouldn't–”

His words are cut off by a loud wail. ”What do you mean, Prompto?” Clarus asks softly.

”I shouldn't be like this,” Prompto weeps, probably smearing snot and tears all over Cor's shirt. ”Everything, everything's _okay_ now but I'm still – _I want to die_ , I just want to _die_ , why's it–”

The last of his words dissolve into violent sobs. Prompto feels his entire body sag against Cor while he cries like he's never cried before, ugly and red-faced and barely able to catch his breath between each wail. They _still_ don't let go of him, no matter how loud he gets, not even when he begins to struggle in their hold, and in the end they hold on until Prompto cries himself to exhaustion. That night, he goes to bed with tear-tracks on his face, throat clogged by snot and slime he can't clear no matter how much he sniffles and coughs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter explicitly deals with the aftermath of a suicide attempt.

It's not often that Clarus has to get up to work in the middle of the night, but tonight is one of those days; shortly after midnight, he gets a message about a Tenebraean ambassador disappearing somewhere between Galdin Quay and Insomnia, and the mess takes a few hours to clear. Clarus sits in his home office in his pyjamas, calls Crownsguards and hunters and old friends alike, tries to make sense of the situation while the clock ticks on. Some four hours later, they've solved the mystery – a herd of anaks drove the ambassador's car off the road, leaving the guy stranded in an unfamiliar area – but the happy ending brings little comfort to Clarus, who rubs his bleary eyes and tries to count the minutes of sleep he has left before he'll need to be up once more.

This used to be a lot easier when he was younger, when the war still raged and being a Shield meant a lot more than it does these days. Groaning, Clarus cancels his first meeting of the day before stumbling out of the chair and into the hallways of his ancestral home. The wings of the manor sprawl out in a complicated web of interconnected rooms, built partly for security and partly due to the whims of the previous generations.

In the silent night, there's no-one to stop Clarus from taking a detour through the kids' wing. The hallways are dark and unlit, though moonlight streams in through the windows wherever there is one, yet he needs nothing but his memory to guide him through the floors. He passes Iris' room, hearing nothing; soft snores echo through Gladio's door and bring a humored smile to Clarus' lips. These two are okay, but Prompto – Prompto's door at the end of the hallway is outlined by a thin gleam of light shining behind it, and fear cluthes at Clarus' heart at the sight of it.

Prompto is a morning person, always up without a complaint and bright as midday sun even in the dusky hours where night and morning intersect. The clock on Clarus' phone reads half past four, though, and that's too early even for the teen.

Heart thumping loudly, Clarus raps his knuckles against the doorframe. There's no answer, no reaction of any kind, and he steps in without a second thought, only to freeze in his tracks. Only the lamp on Prompto's night stand is turned on, cloaking the room in soft light, but also highlighting the bed where Prompto rests curled over the covers, facing the wall and completely still. His left arm is propped up against a pillow and covered in so much blood that Clarus feels his heart skip a beat.

Later on, he'll stare at the door and wonder when exactly he had the time to close it. Now, though, he crosses the floor in long strides and fumbles open the bottom drawer on the nightstand, fingers searching for the potion they'd agreed to keep there just in case it was ever needed. That was Monday, and today, in the first hours of the following Thursday, the bottle is already empty.

Clarus wastes a moment just staring at the empty potion, mind glitching as it tries to catch up with the implication. On the bed by his hip, Prompto's body is still as a stone and he can't say if he's asleep or unconscious, but Clarus is relieved to notice his chest is still rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

There's a bright blue carpet knife nestled loosely in Prompto's right hand, flat against the bed in the curl of his body and the blood-drenched sheets under his arm. Clarus reaches for the knife ans tries to shake the teen awake with his other hand, summoning a potion right after discarding the knife. Up close, he can see that there isn't _that_ much blood, enough to be serious but not enough to be fatal. Prompto stirs, grumbling something or other and trying to roll away from Clarus' touch.

He's asleep, but not for long. ”Prompto,” Clarus says, still shaking the teen while eyeing the gashes running up and down his left forearm, ”you need to wake up.”

There's very little reaction. Gritting his teeth, Clarus reaches over to pour the liquid on the broken skin, where it immediately heals the skin and leaves pink lines under all the rusty blood. It takes a second potion to heal the deepest wounds and by the time Clarus finishes applying it, Prompto's looking up at him with bleary eyes, confused and still a little dazed.

Clarus can't tell if the unseeing gaze is due to the blood loss or the recent changes in Prompto's medication.

”Wuh,” Prompto grunts. He rolls over to rest on his back and stares at his bloodied arm, not yet comprehending it. ”Wha's–”

”Prompto,” Clarus says gently, trying to get the teen's attention, not succeeding as well as he'd have liked. ”I think we should get you to a doctor, hm?”

There really wasn't that much blood but at the same time, Clarus doesn't like how sluggish Prompto is, especially as he's already anemic and on iron supplements. It takes a moment, but he sees the moment understanding hits; Prompto balks, his entire body tense, and all but shrinks into himself under Clarus' gaze.

He starts pleading, then, saying it's okay and not that bad and he didn't mean to, but Clarus stands his ground firm.

* * *

To be fair, Clarus and Cor had expected something – a dip in Prompto's mood, another period of uncertainty while everyone waited for the medicine and the therapy to start working, things like that. Hearing about Prompto not only hurting himself but also wishing for death had been a shock, yes, but none of the following conversations or the hours spent moogling for relevant information had in any way prepered Clarus for the sight of Prompto bleeding out in his bed.

The first cuts on Prompto's right wrist were careful and planned out in advance to ensure he'd be able to keep them hidden. The ones crossing the entirety of his left forearm are deep and messy, so far out of control Clarus feels nothing but fear thinking about the memory of them. When he first volunteered to adopt Prompto, he had expected depression, the remnants of a life spent hiding from the surrounding world, but this – this is so much worse than he'd ever have imagined.

They've learned by now that Prompto is like a cat: he hides his hurt as long as he can and only comes clean when he's no longer to able to deal on his own, and by then things have gone from bad to worse several times over. He doesn't trust, plain and simple. With a vague sense of foreboding, Clarus has come to understand just how deceptive the boy can be, yet he _still_ wasn't prepared for tonight.

* * *

At the Citadel medical wing, a young doctor with a tired expression examines Prompto and has him tucked into a bed with an IV in his arm, dripping iron into his veins while Prompto grimaces in utter disgust at the taste flooding his mouth. Clarus watches him fall asleep and bows his head in exhausted despair.


	3. Chapter 3

It takes Ignis tugging at the blankets to get Noctis moving. This is their morning routine, one they both dislike in equal measures – though for the exact opposite reasons – and by now, Noctis doesn't even bother with his alarm clock unless he knows Ignis will be busy elsewhere. A sharp voice cuts through the last remnants of his sleep and Noctis groans, rolling around to shove his face in a warm pillow. The room is too bright.

”Five more minutes?” he mumbles into it, yelping when the blankets disappear for good. ”Cold!”

”You'll be warm once you dress for the day, Highness,” Ignis responds curtly. ”Now then, up and at them, we've no time to waste.”

Noctis is still too sleepy to notice the lack of irritation in Ignis' voice. He groans and squints his eyes, trying to get used to the light in the room; the wake-up light alarm on his bedside table is already at full brightness, a soft warmth that does the exactly what it's not supposed to do and leaves Noctis feeling warm and comfortable instead of fresh and awake.

”Noctis, please,” Ignis snaps suddenly. ”That's enough dallying.”

”Ugh,” Noctis moans, ”I'm up, I'm _up_ , dammit.”

His feet touch the thick carpet and he sighs, rubbing the crust from his eyes before standing up. Ignis has laid his uniform ready for him, all pieces clean and neatly ironed, but Noctis heads for the ensuite instead. When he returns, Ignis is nowhere to be seen, though he can still hear movement from the living room or the kitchen. After checking his phone for messages, Noctis gets dressed, feeling sluggish and exhausted. He almost falls asleep when he sits down to pull on his socks, and only the faint smell of breakfast gets him back on his feet.

Ignis shows up with the food just as Noctis takes his seat at the dining table. A soft-boiled egg, a couple strips of bacon, and a bowl of porridge with berries and honey are placed on the table before him; Noctis feels his stomach rumble and grins.

”Looks good, Specs,” he says, snagging a piece of bacon with his bare fingers. Normally, this would be enough to make Ignis nag, but instead, he smiles sadly and sits down. Noctis feels his world crumble. ”What's–”

”Prompto hurt himself quite badly last night,” Ignis says, voice soft and light and so worried. Noctis stares at him in a daze, his heart beating wildly in his chest. If he thought seeing Ignis' expression hurt, it was nothing compared to this.

”How bad?”

Ignis takes a moment to answer and for the entire duration of it, Noctis expects the worst. The moment is long enough to make him doubt everything, to make him wonder if the handful of days between this morning and Prompto's confession on the previous Sunday were really that bad of a time for Prompto. Then he begins to think he should've been there, should've taken Prompto's words more carefully, should've done something–

”Not life-threatening,” Ignis answers carefully. ”He's at the Citadel right now. I... I understand they are considering hospitalization, though nothing is set in stone yet. He _is_ under a suicide watch for the time being, however, though _that_ at least is only temporary.”

Ignis looks very solemn and Noctis can barely think, his mind stuck on certain words and their implications, their weight heavy and pressing. _Hospitalization_ , Ignis said, and Noctis doesn't know how bad things have to be for that to be on the table. ”Did he–” he begins, swallowing the question before it slips from his mouth, ”did he try to–”

A deep sigh is his answer. ”Not on purpose, I hear,” Ignis says. Noctis doesn't know if this is the better option of the two, if it had been easier to hear the other answer instead.

”Can I go see him?” he asks weakly.

”That's not for me to decide, I'm afraid.” Ignis nods towards the forgotten breakfast, a silent order Noctis tries to follow even if all he feels is a mixture of dread and nausea. ”I haven't yet been able to confirm whether or not he is allowed visitors outside of his family while he's at the Citadel. Either way, that's a matter for later today, after you are done with school.”

Noctis almost drops his spoon. ”What?” he cries out, ”you want me to go to school after this? You just told me–”

Ignis cuts him off with a raised hand. ”First of all, Prompto will spend most of today seeing his physician and therapist; you know how tiring that can be.”

He does, but it does nothing to soothe the indignation simmering within his chest. ”But what's that got to do–”

”Second, he will have _many_ a hard discussion to have with Clarus and Cor, and frankly speaking, even if it were allowed I would be surprised if he still had the energy for a guest afterwards, no matter how important he thinks said guest.” Ignis pauses for a moment, waits for Noctis to release his breath before continuing. ”As for the third point – I want you to understand this is the same piece of advice I would give you even if you didn't have the responsibilities you do.”

Noctis thinks about the words before nodding. ”Yeah.”

”You cannot drop everything in your life for someone else, even if that feels like the correct decision. It is not.” The words are delivered almost sharply, so intent that Noctis startles. Any response is immediately cut off by Ignis, who continues to speak: ”Fact is, Prompto will be unavailable for a large portion of today, at _minimum_. He is cared for and has his guardians working together to try to help him get over this; you must trust them. Right now, the best thing you can do is to live your life as normal, go to school and pick up Prompto's homework for him. I'm sure he'll appreciate every bit of normalcy in the middle of everything else that is going on in his life.”

Noctis has no reply to that so he dumps more honey on his porridge and shovels a large glob of it into his mouth. Ignis reaches across the table to take hold of his free hand.

”The previous week has been hard for all of us,” he says softly. ”If you truly feel that staying home would be the better option for you today, then I will call the school and let them know you won't be attending today.”

Noctis has to think for a while, but in the end he simply shrugs. ”It's fine,” he mumbles around his spoon, ”I'll go if you want me to. I'm just – worried.”

”And there's nothing wrong with that,” Ignis smiles. ”I have been assured that Clarus was able to take care of all of Prompto's physical injuries on his own, and that there's nothing to worry about on that side of things. Oh, and on that note, would you like to have your own therapist's appointment moved up?”

Blinking, Noctis counts the days and nods. He's halfway between his monthly appointments, almost a full two weeks shy of the next one. ”Yeah, sure, whatever,” he shrugs, ”let me know when.” He can't remember the last time he had to call in an extra appointment, but if there's ever a time to do it, then now sounds good.

* * *

School is just as boring as he expected it to be. Noctis can't focus on anything, keeps on doodling on his notebooks while idly checking his phone for any updates; the teachers seem to understand the correlation between one boy absent in body and the other absent in mind, and leave him be for the most of it. He doesn't know how much the teachers have been told about what's going on with Prompto, but then again, the blond has missed most of the week already. He stayed home on Monday and Tuesday, then showed up for Wednesday, sluggish and irritable; now it's Thursday, and Noctis is pretty sure Prompto won't be back anytime soon.

He can't focus but he can collect duplicates of all hand-outs and make sure his notes are understandable, and after each class, he picks up Prompto's assignments. ”You're such a good friend,” their biology teacher tells him while she scribbles down a long to-do list on a piece of scrap paper. Noctis nods, smiles, thanks her for the list, then walks out of the room wondering if that's true at all, when Prompto won't even tell him anything important.


	4. Chapter 4

There's no doorbell to signal Noctis' arrival. Through the open bedroom door, Prompto hears Cor head for the entrance, and then a moment later, there's a short, hushed conversation drifting in from the hallway. Prompto stays where he is curled in his bed, stares at the same page he's been staring at for Astrals-know how long now. The newest print of his favorite science magazine is freshly out of the press, yet the Niff letters dance in his eyes and fail to hold his interest long at all.

Noctis enters the room and drops his school bad at the door. ”Hey,” he murmurs. Prompto pushes his body closer to the wall to make some space on the bed and lets the magazine drop down to the floor. ”Anything good?”

This is an old routine, Prompto thinks while Noctis arranges himself on the bed; him talking about the latest science news and Noctis doing his best to understand. ”Mechanical bees,” he murmurs while Noctis wraps around him.

”Huh?”

”Like little robot bees, 'cause Tenebrae's like really worried about real bees dying,” Prompto tries to explain, searching for words past a thick cloud fogging up his brain. Noctis makes an understanding sound and nods against Prompto's shoulder.

”Please tell me that's the plan B to saving the world,” he says, probably joking but Prompto's too exhausted to care that much. ”Kinda cool, though, isn't it?”

Prompto hums something nonsensical and tucks his face into the crook of Noctis' neck. He's so tired, not just mentally but physically as well, both from the two days of invasive conversations and from the sudden bout of insomnia plagueing him. At the same time, he feels jittery and overwrought, never mind the extra pills he was given at the Citadel when his anxiety yet again decided to hit the roof in the form of a panic attack. Laying down like this with Noctis by his side is _supposed_ to be the best thing he knows of, yet it isn't good enough for this.

They lay still for some time. ”Hey, uh,” Noctis mumbles eventually, his words hot breaths on Prompto's face; ”can I ask you something?”

Prompto takes a moment to think. ”Sure,” he sighs. ”Might not answer.”

”Yeah, yeah, that's okay.” Noctis pauses and if Prompto didn't realize it before, he knows now what it is that Noctis wants to talk about. ”Did – did you mean it?”

His voice is so small, so feeble that just hearing it is enough to bring the first prickles of tears to Prompto's eyes. He hates this, hates how easy it is to make others hurt, can't stand the fact that the emotions he's no longer allowed to keep to himself are now a weapon aimed at others. Somewhere deep inside, he wants to be safe and warm once more, like he was as a child, but not if this is the cost he'll have to pay.

It's almost too easy to slip into this empty numbness where hurt takes the form of nothingness. His bed is soft and warm around his body and makes it possible to ignore the tick-tock of time passing on and on and on, hours of his days wasting away while he lets the emptiness comfort him. But sometimes even that gets too much and Prompto finds himself craving something _more_ , a feeling or a sensation or an emotion, _anything_ to cut through the hole his entire being has become. And, occasionally, when he finds that _something_ , it's no longer enough and when he searches for more, more, more – that's no good either.

He doesn't know how he made it this far. This thing, this depression of his, has been building for years and years, yet before, he was still able to manage it. He got out of bed in the mornings and did whatever needed to be done during the day, and when he lay in bed late at night, he didn't try to take his own life even if he thought about it. Now, it's all changed, and not for the good like he always thought it would.

Prompto forgets about the question until he hears Noctis call his name. ”I don't know,” he admits eventually; he doesn't. His memories of the night are hazy at best, laying in his bed with a knife cradled to the crook of his arm, the blade digging into his skin over and over again in a desperate attempt to feel something, anything. He didn't mean to die, he thinks, but he didn't stop either, didn't see the need to leave his blood where it belongs.

That's probably the worst part in this, the notion of possibly dying slipping from his mind. A short, soft sound leaves Noctis' lips and Prompto feels his arms tighten their hold around his body. ”Iggy said something about hospitals,” Noctis murmurs.

”Yeah,” Prompto sighs. He stares at the ceiling for a while before continuing. ”If I – if I get worse, or don't get better, then. Then it's gonna be that.”

Noctis is not a dense guy, has never been; Prompto thinks obliviousness is a privilege not allowed when one is the heir to the Crown, but cannot say for sure. He doesn't always have the right words at ready when they're needed, but he understands and catches on fast. Here, on this bed too small for the two of them, Noctis probably sees the shadows on Prompto's face and feels the tremble of his exhausted body, and knows exactly how terrified he is, and why; or that's what Prompto feels like, anyways, because the next words to spill from Noctis' mouth are gentle reassurances to sooth his fraying nerves.

”We're not gonna leave you,” he says, soft as the kindest smile he's ever graced Prompto with. ”I – I understand why you'd be so scared, but I'm not gonna leave you because of something like this, and I know Cor and Clarus won't either, okay? You're my best friend and I'm not gonna let go no matter what, I promise.”

Prompto sniffles, tries to clear the sudden flood of watery snot from his nostrils. ”I don't know where to start,” he creaks. It was easy to become what he is now, but climbing back up feels like an impossibility, even the smallest success a step too tall to take.

He feels rather than hears Noctis swallow. ”Yeah? I think I got an idea,” he says, looking pointedly at the room even as his eyes grow red with unshed tears. ”Let's get some chocobos here, yeah? Sound good?”

Prompto shudders in horror. ”I can't just separate them,” he whines, even as he understands where Noctis is coming from. The room around them is bare, filled with old, utilitarian furniture and little else. His chocobos and photographs are all at the manor, and he only agreed to unpack when Iris wanted to see his plushie collections. If she hadn't bugged him until he gave in, the chocobos would still be sitting in a brown cardboard box, waiting.

”So let's get you more of them, then,” Noctis says. He props himself up on his elbows so he can grin down at Prompto. ”Sheets with chocobo prints. A lampshade with chocobo prints. Uh, a chocobo-shaped rug for your bathroom! And, and – ooh, I know, a chocobo bean bag chair! That's what you need!”

Prompto wants to laugh but the sound comes out a whimper instead. ”Too much,” he pleads, tears streaming freely down his face. Noctis' words brought a nervous joy to his chest, yet he's so easily overwhelmed these days, first numb and then angry and then calm again, all in a flash.

”Sorry,” Noctis says. He doesn't stop smiling, doesn't move away from where he's propped up over Prompto's upper body. He looks down and Prompto looks up, tear-clogged eyelashes blurring the world. ”I love you, you know.”

The smile that spreads on Prompto's face is one of his most genuine ones. ”I know,” he murmurs. He doesn't take his eyes off Noctis' face.

”No, I mean – I _love_ you.”

” _I know_ ,” Prompto repeats; Noctis' love for him is the one thing he will never doubt. Noctis' cheeks flush red and he ducks his head ever-so-slightly, dark bangs falling over his eyes, but Prompto sweeps them aside and cups Noctis' face with both hands. ”You're the most important thing in my life.”

It's not the best time for something like this, yet the moment is right and the stars aligned, so Prompto tugs down with his hands and cranes his neck up, up, until his lips meet with Noctis'. He sees the surprise in ice-blue eyes, feels the shock melt into a soft smile mirroring his own. Their first kiss is short and chaste, Prompto too tired to hold his head up much longer, but they're both smiling and blushing at the end of it and that's all that matters.

Noctis lowers himself to one elbow, the other arm still stretched across Prompto's chest, and leans down to steal their second kiss. ”I know now isn't really a good time,” he whispers when he's done, ”but this is – it's all we've ever been and...”

He doesn't finish, nor does he has to. Prompto leans in for their third kiss, then the fourth, and drops down once more. ”Wanna nap?” he asks, exhaustion finally catching up. Noctis nods – _of course_ he wants to sleep – and tucks himself around the curl of Prompto's body against his chest.

Prompto feels the warmth that seeps into his very bones, luxuriates in the sound of Noctis' heartbeat by his ear. The dark times are not yet over, the shadows nowhere near gone from his heart and mind, yet in this moment – in this bed, in these arms, loved and wanted – Prompto lets himself be still.

”I love you too,” he suddenly remembers to say. Noctis doesn't respond, already asleep.


End file.
